In The End: Monsters
by Forgotten Angel Kirra
Summary: Not all monsters begin a monster. Some are created...and it takes a monster to create a monster. [SPOD] [Child Abuse] [Implied Non-Con Cest]


Title: Monsters  
Series: In The End  
Arthur: Forgotten Angel Kirra  
Rating: R  
Summary: Not all monsters begin a monster. Some are created...and it takes a monster to create a monster.  
Warnings: SPOD. Child Abuse. Implied Non-Con Cest  
Disclaimer: I am American. I am 15. I am not J.K. Rowling. Which means I don't own Harry Potter. (Though, if I did, Hikari would have me at gunpoint telling me to write the sixth book instead of fanfiction)  
Notes: This came out a lot darker than I originally planned for it, but once I got going...I just seemed to make it worse. Anyway, this is a first in a group of fanfics I plan to write; all about characters that the majority of the fans and/or Harry and co seem to hate...or strongly dislike. I would also like to thank HikariHeart for betaing this. Though she says she isn't the best beta...But I think she's awesome! ^.^' 

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I am a sick, horrible monster. I am a sick, horrible monster. I am a sick, horrible monster. I am a sick, horrible monster. 

The same sentence over and over again. The words were written in the blood of its writer, a fifteen-year-old girl. Her father stood over her. She made herself not shake, not flinch, not anything as she wrote those words. As those words were etched onto her wrist.

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I am a sick, horrible monster. I am a sick, horrible monster. I am a sick, horrible monster. I am a sick, horrible monster.

The world around her was blurring as she had been writing this same line for the past two hours. She had to stay focus. She had to. She couldn't loose consciousness. Not now. Not ever. She could feel her father's breath as he breathed in...as he breathed out. She couldn't see anything now, everything was a blur, but she still wrote the line she had written for the past two hours...for the past seven years.

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I am a sick, horrible monster. I am a sick, horrible monster. I am a sick, horrible monster. I am a sick, horrible monster.

"Stop!" her father commanded and she did. Still not letting herself shake or fall unconscious. When he grabbed her wrist, she flinched. She didn't mean to, she didn't want to...but the pain was too much.

SMACK!

He slapped her across the face. "Don't flinch, girl." She could barely make herself nod, she couldn't make herself say a thing.

SMACK!

He slapped her again. "Say it!" She closed her eyes and forced herself to say

"Ye...yes…s...s...sir."

SMACK!

Again, he slapped her. "Don't stutter." 

"Yes sir." She barely was able to make out.

SMACK! 

"Louder!"

"Yes sir!"

SMACK!

"I said louder!"

"YES SIR!"

SMACK!

"Don't yell at me!"

"Yes sir!"

SMACK!

This went on for a while, and she could never please her father. It felt like eternity before this stopped. As far as she was concerned, it was an eternity. But it wasn't.

But it had been a while, as she was no longer dizzy from loss of blood.

"That's enough for today, but I warn you…The next time you screw up, girl, I will have to actually hurt you." And then he leaned in and kissed her.

"Now go wash up and be back in less than five minutes, you do not want to know what I'll do to you if you keep me waiting..." And he kissed her again before letting her go off.

She looked into the mirror in the powder room, remembering the words engraved on her wrist. 

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I am a sick, horrible monster.

She doubted they would ever fade. She had been writing them for too long now. They were forever. She sighed and splashed herself with water and fixed her hair before heading back to her father.

And the next day, she knew, she would awake in her room with her body aching and she would ignore it. She would go into her bathroom and slip on her Slytherin robes and be thankful that robes covered almost every inch of her body. She would be thankful that she wouldn't have to see her father until winter break, a good four months from now. And she would look into the mirror at her reflection. She would remember the words that were forever written on her wrist. She would watch as her eyes harden and a smirk crawled upon her face as she told herself "If I'm scarred as a sick, horrible monster, I might as well be one." Then she would exit.

But that was tomorrow and Dolores Umbridge had to get to tomorrow before it happened.

It meant living through today.

And if she had to do whatever her father told her to do to do so...Then she would, because the was the game.

Stay alive.


End file.
